Dance With the Devil
by Laurie M
Summary: A Babylon Noir Halloween fic. Mike finds that accepting John and Della's invitation to dinner results in an unexpected twist.


Disclaimer: All of the usual stuff - _Babylon 5_ is owned by J Michael Straczynski, Babylonian Productions™ and Warners™. This is just my own _noir_-verse fantasy...

Author's Note: This genre is still going strong... As before, these are characters who debuted in _The Deep Sleep_ and continued into _Body and Soul, Whirlpool _and the collaboration fic _Double Take. _It is complete and utter seasonal nonsense...

* * *

**Dance With the Devil**

**By**

**Laurie M**

_**To:**__ The General Editor_

_**From:**__ Head of Research_

_Another addition to the files – our archivists thought it appropriate for the time of year._

_New York, 31 October 1948_

Winter had decided to start early that year and by the time I turned the corner and started down the street bordering Central Park, my cheeks had gone numb. I walked up the seven steps to the front door, rang the bell and waited. It had a homely feel, even from the outside, that old brownstone. The lights glowed warmly in the gloom. There were decorative festoons of fake cobwebs and carved pumpkins, just to add that seasonal touch. I clapped my hands together and just as my circulation was about to give up on me, the door opened with a creaking whine.

'You need some oil on those hinges there, buddy,' I said, as Drahl's face appeared.

'Sir.' He finished with a sniff, which is, I guess, his preferred mode of communication. He sounded more lugubrious than usual and shuffled backwards to let me in. I handed him my hat, coat, gloves and scarf and he handled all of them with the reluctance a guy would normally reserve for handling either something nasty and slimy or his tax bill. Although, I guess some people would see anything coming out of the IRS as being nasty and slimy and they probably wouldn't be far wrong.

I stepped into the hall and had me a good look around; it had been given the same treatment as the porch, only more so. Vases filled with the white lilies made it smell like a funeral parlour and the endless candles everywhere didn't help. Almost all the furniture had been draped in black velvet and damn but it was cold in there. There was a little display on one table: another carved pumpkin that grinned at me like a deranged Cheshire Cat and it was surrounded by a series of little heads, all wizened and their eyes sunken into their sockets. What with Della being such a nice Catholic girl and all, I wouldn't have thought that she'd go for all that Halloween stuff in such a big way, but I guess it just goes to show that you never can tell.

John, on the other hand, is still a big dumb kid at heart and I'll bet that he'd take himself trick-or-treating given half the chance.

'Miss Della is in the drawing room,' Drahl told me, giving the lugubriousness a bit of extra depth, just in case I'd missed it the first time.

'Thanks, buddy.'

I shoved my hands into my pockets and whistled my way towards the joint Drahl had pointed me at; I treated anyone who was listening to a burst of _Witchcraft_, as it seemed appropriate. I pushed open the door with a flourish and peered in. It took me a moment to actually find Della as she seemed to be keeping the whole no-light-but-candlelight thing going through the entire house. I have to admit when that lady does something she goes all out. Della glided out of the shadows and she looked a knockout in a black silk number that showed that her figure was doing all the things it was supposed to and in all the right places.

'Mike.' She held out a hand to me and I got hold of the tips of her fingers; it was like getting a handful of ice.

'Love what you've done with the place,' I said, rubbing my hands together pointedly and hoping that she'd take the hint. 'Hey, those little heads you got cluttering up the hall look great, just like the real deal.'

'Yes...' She smiled – not a big number, just sort of drew the corners of her mouth back a little.

'Where's Johnny-boy? Or is he going to be jumping out at me from a cupboard later on? If so, will you give me the head's up? My heart isn't what it used to be.'

Her smile widened about a sixteenth of an inch. 'Don't worry, he won't be jumping anywhere. He'll be along later – he's just finishing off some ... arrangements. Would you like a drink?'

I grinned at her. 'As if you had to ask.'

She wafted across to the liquor cabinet and pulled out a decanter of something that, judging by its colour, was not my usual preferred Scotch. It was dark red, like blood, almost as dark as her lipstick. Della drifted back and held out a glass of it to me.

'Uh...'

'It's Drahl's special Halloween punch,' Della told me, 'he spent all week making it. It's an old family recipe, all the way from Transylvania.'

I put my eyebrows up at her. 'I thought he was Swiss.'

'He is, but his family moved around.' She tilted her head, 'Like yours did, one can assume.'

'Yeah, okay, you assume right.' I took a healthy mouthful of the punch and my eyes watered. When my head had stopped reeling I realised that every part of me from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes was toasty warm. 'Drahl's been holding out on me,' I said, 'if I'd known he could brew this stuff, I'd have kidnapped him and set him to work bottling it. Actually, I still might.'

I drained my glass and felt that warm glow spread again. I felt full of the warmth and charmth of brotherly affection for all my fellow beings, especially Della, as she was the dispenser of Drahl's magic juice. And also being in that dress didn't hurt. 'So, who else is coming to this shindig tonight?'

'Oh...' Her hand waved vaguely. 'It's just some old friends; I don't think you know them.'

'The classy bunch, huh? I hope I'll fit in,' I said modestly.

'You'll go down a treat.'

I laughed. 'Treat! Go down a treat. I like that. It's funny; y'know, what with trick-or-treat and all...' My head was reeling again; I heard splintering glass and realised that my fingers had gone numb.

'Maybe you should sit down.' Della's voice came from a very long way off.

'Yeah, maybe... Maybe...' A dark pool had opened up at my feet. I fell into it.

ooOoo

When I crawled back out of that pool I heard a voice talking, a monotonous drone that was lamenting the fate that had befallen some poor unsuspecting shlub. Didn't know what had hit him, the voice said, he never saw it coming. Look at him, lying there, dead to the world; maybe he is dead and this is hell or purgatory or somewhere. And then I realised that the voice was mine. I shut up. I was getting on my own nerves. My head felt cleaved in two and my tongue was two sizes too big for my mouth; there was a weird taste – metallic, salty. When I tried to move my arms I couldn't – there were chains around my wrists and my nice hard bed turned out to be a nice hard wall. Rock. I wasn't lying down, just standing there like an idiot with a comical expression on my face.

'What the f-'

'Uh-uh – there's a lady present. Good-evening, Michael.'

John Sheridan's face swam into view and he gave me one of his patented charming smiles. Right then I didn't find it all that charming. He tilted his head to one side and looked at me, thoughtful, like he was considering where to sink a knife. I glanced down at his hands just to make sure that he wasn't holding one.

He wasn't.

'Okay, what gives, huh?'

He smiled again. If I'd had my hands free – or even just one hand free – I would have slugged him one.

'It's no big deal,' he said, 'it's just what we told you: we wanted you for dinner.'

Over his shoulder I could see Della: she was so pale she looked like she'd been carved from marble except for the red lipstick that looked like a smear of blood across her mouth. Her eyes glittered and she smiled. It was a cold, strange smile and I felt my stomach flip like a newly landed fish on the end of a line.

It still smelt like a funeral parlour, but like an old one – dead flowers, dust, the smell of the cold and then something else. A sweet, rank odour like rotting flesh.

'Where the hell are we?'

'Still in the house,' Della told me, pleasant, like she was telling me the time. Or asking if I'd like another drink.

'What is this, a secret dungeon at the end of a secret passage?'

'Yes. That's exactly what it is.'

They stood together, both in black, both wearing matching non-smiles. Just like always, they looked like they belonged together. John looked at his watch and frowned.

'We better get on with it, Drahl will be getting antsy.'

'Get on with what?' I forced the words past the knot in my throat.

He looked surprised and when he spoke it was slow and clear, like he was explaining something to an imbecile. 'With getting you ready, buddy. Drahl's been waiting all week for this. Well,' he put his arm around Della's shoulders, 'we all have.'

I was breathing too hard and too fast. 'Ready for what?'

'Dinner, of course,' Della said. 'Like I said earlier – you'll go down a treat...'

I remembered that I had laughed when she had said that; it hadn't actually been funny then; and it certainly wasn't funny anymore.

'Wait a minute. Just- just wait a minute. You-you can't-'

John shook his head. 'I'm sorry, brother – but you have no idea what Drahl's like when he doesn't get what he wants.'

He was closer to me then and the smell was stronger, that deep smell like the inside of a tomb.

'Please. Please, John, don't- Don't do this.'

There were a few sounds: the clinking of chains from where I was almost wrenching my wrists in the cuffs; Della's voice singing softly – _Witchcraft_, her idea of irony; and then a low keening that came from me. I was no hero; I wasn't too proud to show fear.

'Don't. For God's sake!' I screwed my eyes shut but there was light cutting through. 'Please, don't!'

'Hey, buddy, take it easy.'

A hand on my shoulder shook me. I prised one eye open and the light from the desk-lamp blinded me. I jerked my head away, blinked rapidly and looked up. John was looking down at me, his eyebrows up, and he looked like he couldn't decide whether to be worried or amused. Beyond his shoulder Della was hovering: she had her eyes fixed on my face and she bit her lower lip. She was all soft concern.

'John, he doesn't look good. Was it a Michael Finn?'

'Mickey. Mickey Finn.' John shook his head. 'I turn my back on you for two minutes and you're out for the count. What was it? Hard day playing stud with Susan finally catch up with you?'

The big lug laughed at his own joke and I scowled at him.

'Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, wiseacre.' I massaged the back of my neck and had a good look at the pair of them. They were both looking nicely normal-coloured instead of doing impersonations of corpses. Della looked worried, which makes her look cute as a button so I took a couple of extra seconds to look at her. Then John helped me to my feet even though I hadn't asked him to – I didn't have any say in the matter.

'Come one, let's go,' he said, 'I'm starving.'

I threw his hand off me with a yelp.

'What?'

'Nothing! Nothing wrong with me, no sir. Just, ah, I, uh, sore arm. Yeah. Did something to my elbow.'

John had his eyes narrowed to slits. 'Uh-huh.' He and Della looked at each other. 'You still coming over for dinner?'

Okay, so it was stupid. It was more than stupid. They were my two best friends. They weren't cannibals. As far as I knew. I was pretty sure.

'Uh... Hey, how about Lon and Gerry's Hallowe'en party? We said we'd swing by if we had time.' I grinned so wide it was a wonder my face didn't split open.

They looked at each other, doing that mental communication thing that they like so much.

'Okay... You really want to go to that?'

'Isn't it a costume party?' Della asked.

'Yeah, but that's no problem,' I said; I jerked my head at John, 'we're already good to go.'

She frowned, looking cute again. 'But you're not wearing costumes, they're just your regular clothes.'

'Sure these could pass for costumes,' I said.

'Going as what?'

John grinned, delighted. 'Gumshoes!'

Della rolled her eyes.

'Now we just need to get you fixed up, plaything.'

'I- Oh, all right. I suppose I could dig out what I wore last year.'

'What did you go as?' I shut off the lamp, grabbed my coat and we headed for the door.

'The Bride of Frankenstein.'

I sniggered and John nudged me. He hustled us both out the door, taking charge, but I guess he just can't help himself. 'Okay, we'll stop off at home, you get yourself all dolled up and we'll hit Lon's place.'

'Oh!' Her eyes lit up. 'I'll get some of Drahl's punch to take along.'

My feet stuttered. 'Uh... Drahl's punch?'

She nodded happily. 'Yes, he makes it every year from an old family recipe.' The gate on the elevator car got pulled across with a tortured scream. 'It always goes down a treat.'

_**-Boo!-**_


End file.
